Page 32 of Savage Bond

“They’re not going to have what we need.” My tone is sharper than intended but this is survival; I don’t have time for hope dressed as naïveté.

The villagers’ eyes follow us—some curious, others wary—and it dawns on me: we look like outsiders here—intruders in their quiet life. I feel the weight of their stares; they know something's wrong with our presence even if they can’t name it.

I take a step back, watching Ava as she shifts between apprehension and determination—a fragile dance reflecting everything this jungle has tried to teach her so far: survival over sentimentality.

Ava moves past me, her focus shifting to a woman struggling with a basket that has toppled over. She kneels, her movements fluid, and I watch as she offers her help.

“Here,” Ava says, her voice warm, almost soothing. She gestures toward the fallen basket and flashes a smile that somehow feels genuine in this chaos.

The woman’s brow furrows, unsure at first. Her eyes dart between Ava and the scattered fruit—vivid reds and greens against the earthy ground. Cautious curiosity dances on her face, but she nods slowly, allowing Ava to assist her.

They exchange a few words—Ava’s hands moving animatedly as she tries to bridge the gap of language. I can’t catch everything, but I see how Ava leans in closer, making herself small in this moment. The woman’s lips curl into a tentativesmile, and for an instant, the tension of being outsiders melts away.

My irritation flares up like a flare gun igniting in my chest.

How easy it comes to her. This connection—this warmth she wraps around strangers like an old cloak. It annoys me how effortlessly she reaches out when every instinct tells me to stay guarded. To not trust anything or anyone outside of my own bloodshed.

“Do you know what planet we’re on?” Ava asks next, eyes bright with hope as she fumbles through words in a language so foreign I can’t follow.

The woman responds slowly; her English is broken and tangled like roots digging into soil. Words slip through gaps between meanings—some lost completely while others form shapes I can’t decipher.

I scowl from my spot at the edge of their interaction. My grip tightens around the hilt of my blade, fingers brushing against worn metal. This could all go wrong in an instant; every part of me screams that extending trust is foolish.

Yet there’s something good about this—watching them share cautious smiles and fragmented communication. It rattles something deep inside me—a soft pulse of warmth fighting against years of bitter isolation.

Dangerous.

That’s what it is.

An hour ticks by, and my patience frays. They’re no help; just superstitions about forest spirits and vague drawings in the dirt. Nothing concrete. I glance around at the makeshift huts—twisted vines draped over thatched roofs—remnants of a life rooted too deep to adapt to change.

“They’re wasting our time,” I snap, breaking the stillness. “They don’t even understand the world they live in.”

Ava turns sharply, her eyes flashing with something I don’t want to dissect right now—anger, yes, but deeper than that.

“They understand it just fine,” she shoots back. “You just don’t care to listen.”

I meet her glare with my own, but I keep my mouth shut this time. Something shifts between us—an electric current that feels almost familiar.

She mutters under her breath and strides off toward another hut, leaving me standing there like a fool.

Good.

I don’t want her emotions flooding into mine like a tide. I’ve had enough of softening edges and chinks in my armor; I need that anger to fuel me instead.

But I feel her absence—the weight of it settles heavily in my gut as if she’s dragging some part of me along with her.

CHAPTER 20

AVA

Isink onto a low bench in the communal hut, a bowl of steaming root stew in front of me. The warmth seeps into my bones as I shovel the food into my mouth, not bothering to savor the flavors. It’s sustenance, pure and simple. The villagers watch me with a mix of curiosity and concern, their eyes flickering between my frantic eating and the way I practically inhale the water they offer.

Kairon hasn’t spoken to me since we got here. Not a word. He acts as if I’m invisible, a ghost drifting through this village without meaning. That cold distance between us burns more than any injury I’ve endured. It’s humiliating—not because of what happened but because I let myself believe it mattered to him.

Fine. If he wants to pretend I don’t exist, then I’ll make myself too useful to ignore.

I push away from the bench, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and stride out into the sunlight that floods the village square. My heart races with purpose as I gesture toward the villagers, mimicking the shapes of mountains and ruins with sweeping movements of my arms.

---